


Yessir

by Hannigrammatic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #JustFuckMeUp, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Face-Fucking, JustFuckMeUp, Lingerie, M/M, Master/Pet, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 01:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7146638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannigrammatic/pseuds/Hannigrammatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will, Hannibal, the office floor. Oh, and the desk. A pet must please his master no matter what.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yessir

**Author's Note:**

> My second contribution to the #JustFuckMeUp fest ♥

Will doesn't need to be commanded once, let alone twice. When the door closes behind him, Hannibal's jovial greeting echoing in his ears, he begins to unbutton his shirt. Prompt, fingers no longer shaking as they used to, he eases them out of their little holes swiftly, and then removes and folds the shirt neatly. Hannibal murmurs, pleased, and takes it to set on a chair nearby.

Next, Will snaps the button on his jeans and tugs the zipper down. His face is hot, the blush spreading over his cheeks, but he doesn't pause as he steps out of his pants and repeats the motion of folding and then offering the still-warm fabric to the man at his side. Afterwards, Will stands naked other than the stockings that Hannibal had bought him and requested that he wore.

"Kneel," Hannibal instructs, and he kneels where he is, in the center of the office.

The stockings reach to mid-thigh, soft and the color of lilac. There's an intricate pattern woven into them -he's glad that it's Hannibal's floor that he's kneeling on, because he knows that it's clean, and that the obscenely expensive gift wont be tarnished. He has to refrain from stroking his hands along his thighs, instead folding them across the top of his legs as he straightened his posture.

"You didn't return my text this afternoon," the smooth, accented voice drifts into his ears like honey. "You may speak and provide me with an explanation."

"Thank you, sir," Will inclines his head briefly to acknowledge the gesture. "I lost track of time, sir."

"Between what hours? If you can recall."

Will stares straight ahead as he considers, and then says, "I last remember arriving at the Academy and teaching my morning class. After that, everything becomes blurry."

"I called you not too long ago," Hannibal's shoes click on hardwood floor almost ominously as he circles in front of the kneeling man.

"I was driving, sir. I sincerely apologize."

Hannibal's long, strong legs come into view. In the seconds that pass, Will keeps his eyes situated on the other man's knees. Silence bears down for an entire minute before Hannibal steps forward until his legs are nearly touching Will.

"Look at me, William," his pert command is obeyed immediately, blue eyes meeting maroon.

The older man crouches slightly to graze the palm of one hand down his face, scratching gently through the stubble along his sharp jaw. Will inhales calmly, not breaking eye-contact for a second.

"You know what to do."

A shudder climbs from his toes to the tip of his nose, but Will once more moves as Hannibal straightens again. His hands are still, in contrast to his beet-red face, as he unbuckles the shiny belt and lets it hang from Hannibal's waist. Next, he moves close enough nuzzle into the warmth there, at the hardening bulge beginning to stretch Hannibal's pants tight. In seconds, Will has the zipper down and the button slipped out, and a firm tug at black boxer briefs reveals the other man's cock in a bounce of weighted heat.

Will fights the sudden urge to look up and seek approval. He knows that will come later, along with the two of them, unless Hannibal decides to make him wait.

"Suck," Hannibal says, loud.

Will grips firmly around the base, and opens his lips to accept the thick girth. He sucks at the tip where it peeks out of the foreskin, running it along his lips as if it were lipstick, before he feeds the cock to himself, thrusting his head downwards and swallowing the whole length. He's had plenty of practice at this, knows how to control his gag reflex; he swallows again as he feels the tip leaking and tickling the back of his throat. Long fingers bury into his hair almost immediately, and a grunt is offered. 

It's his only warning before Hannibal begins to fuck his face earnestly, holding onto his curls harshly. Will can't help choking once or twice, the pace brutal and forceful enough to have tears gathering at his eyes. His throat feels raw before it's even over, hands gripping tightly at Hannibal's thighs and fingers digging in to brace himself.

"Good boy," Hannibal says breathlessly between pleased moans and growls. "You're doing so _well_."

Praise makes it easier. Will swallows around another thrust, spittle running down his chin. Distantly, he hopes it doesn't leak onto his stockings -he knows Hannibal can buy him another pair, but that's hardly the principle of the matter. In that second, however, he's torn into the present by one last, firm thrust that sinks Hannibal to the hilt as he comes. He spends down Will's throat without preamble, giving him no option other than to drink the salty, viscous fluid.

After, he pulls away, cock soft and brushing Will's cheek.

"You've done well, pet," Hannibal praises again.

Will's chest fills with joy as he pants to catch his breath. He can feel the sweat on his hairline from the exertion of having his face fucked so thoroughly, and he can feel the blush still on his face and spreading down his neck and across his chest. He licks his lips of any remnants of the older man's gift, and then wipes his mouth with the back of one hand. Hannibal tucks himself away, zips his pants but doesn't otherwise return himself to his rightful, tidy appearance. Instead, he walks away, sharp shoes tapping on the floor, and a second later Will can hear the chair at the man's desk scraping on the floor.

"Come," Hannibal's command follows. "Crawl. Keep your eyes on the floor."

Gulping, Will lowers himself so that his hands are flat on the hardwood. He crawls slowly, like an animal approaching in caution, attempting to make the movement sensual. He stops beside the other, who sits comfortably in his leather chair, eyes down.

"Up."

A large hand pats Hannibal's lap primly. Will stands swiftly and climbs over the arm of the chair, settles on his master with his legs straddling the other's thighs. Still, his eyes settle away from Hannibal's face, focusing on the neatly cinched tie at his throat. Paisley, like the pocket square in his suit jacket. Will's nostrils flare at the warmth beneath him, his cock jutting out impolitely into Hannibal's middle.

"Look at this," the older man says, gesturing to the hard and demanding thing. "How naughty of you, William."

"I apologize, sir," Will reflexively spoke.

Hannibal tuts, before he cups Will, the younger man's smaller dick engulfed in his grip. He squeezes it firmly, until Will can't help the beginnings of a whine from escaping his still swollen lips. He can feel the pressure of the man's gaze like he can his strong hand.

"Do you like the gift I've given you?" the man asks, other hand stroking beneath one stocking slightly.

"Yes, sir, very much."

"You look splendid in them," Hannibal compliments him in voice and with another squeeze of his cock, where it's started to leak at the tip after the barest amount of stimulation.

"Thank you, sir," the younger man lets out a few tiny pants, cheeks aflame.

The smirk on Hannibal's face is obvious -Will can picture it clearly. He wants to arch his back and press into the dry palm rolling teasingly against him. He almost does, even, and that's when the hand withdraws. Immediately after, Hannibal sets his hand along Will's jaw and cheek tenderly, thumb rubbing gently circles under his eye.

"My beautiful William," he whispers. "How you destroy my control."

And then Will nearly shouts as he's thrown onto the desk unceremoniously, the surface already cleared. He flails for a second, before his hands slam down and grip the edge of the desktop -he has no time to question or complain or even blink before his thighs are gripped and lifted and Hannibal's face is buried between his asscheeks. This time, he almost manages to hold back the strangled shout of surprise and pleasure when a thick, probing tongue slips into his hole easily.

" _Hann- oh, oh god_ ," he can't focus on proper etiquette with Hannibal fucking him wetly open.

The long, firm muscle laps at the rim of his hole, plunges inside of him, and then repeats the motion. There's no finesse, no time given to adjust to the sensation. Will can only hold on for dear life to the desk as he's licked and sucked and teased. He can feel his hole twitching and clenching against the assault, and this time he _does_ arch his spine. His legs are hugging Hannibal's head, his hips are held down in a bruising grip, and so the action doesn't do much other than to make Will's body feel even better, taut with delicious tension. 

He doesn't allow himself to come, though. He hasn't been given permission, after all. It's so difficult -so, so very challenging, with Hannibal's tongue wriggling as deep as it can go and swirling none-too-gently within him. He's eaten out until he's sore, squirming helplessly and moaning Hannibal's name, the proper title of 'sir' lost in the cloud of pain and pleasure taking over his body. His cock rests on his stomach, leaking profusely from the red, engorged tip.

And then it's all gone, replaced with cruel, cold air. Will cries out at the loss, legs twitching and mind in a panic for a few horrible seconds.

"Sit up," Hannibal commands gruffly.

 _Fuck_ , Will thinks, and he obeys, struggles a bit, and then finally sits on the edge of the desk with Hannibal once more reclining in his chair. 

"You may touch yourself," the man informs him. "But you will look at me."

Shivering bodily, Will meets glittering maroon eyes and a satisfied smirk. His face heats up even more, if that were possible, as he takes himself in hand and tugs a few times at the incredibly sensitive tip. He hasn't been given permission to come just yet, and he wonders if he'll be able to hold back after being tongue-fucked into near insanity. Another squeeze, and Will's thighs twitch as his balls draw against his body.

"Go on. Before I change my mind."

Hannibal's smirk widens until his sharp teeth are bared. Will's heart leaps into a crescendo as he strokes himself slowly, avoiding the tip and the thick vein on the underside as much as he can. He can feel the blood pulsing through his cock and simultaneously rushing through his ears in a primal song: his eardrums pound a beat to match his hand. And all the while, he stares nearly unblinkingly into the endless depths of Hannibal's eyes, hand moving, biting his lip and grunting.

"Come," his master commands.

Will nearly sobs, rubs his thumb firmly around his slit, and then he's coming, jerking himself through the contractions of his orgasm. He spills all over his hand and belly, and doesn't realize he actually _is_ sobbing until the white stars disappear from his vision and he can breathe again. Then there's a soothing sound, Hannibal shushing him and pulling him back into his lap. The mess is ignored, strong arms embracing him close and tight.

"You did good," Hannibal whispers into his ear. "So good, my darling Will. Shhhh."

A steady hand pets his curls, and Will exhales heavily against Hannibal's bared throat. He wastes no time in returning the grip, clutching his arms around the other's neck and crying softly into his skin. There's no more master and pet now, he knows. He knows Hannibal knows as well, because now it's time for comfort and whispered praise and a large hand rubbing and patting his back. With the motion, Will calms, and then lets go of the stress entirely that normally binds him tight.

"Thank you," he murmurs tiredly.

"There's no need," Hannibal's voice rumbles pleasantly in the air. "I only want to help."

Will tightens his arms around Hannibal's neck and sighs happily. He shuts his eyes and doesn't realize he intends to sleep, and then he is. His snores ghost against the other's high collar, and one of his arms falls as he grips Hannibal's suit jacket loosely.

"Oh, Will," the older man says to the beautiful sleeping creature in his arms.

He lifts the smaller man easily, and then walks over to lay him on the couch nearby. In a few minutes, he's cleaned the mess from Will's naked body, spread a blanket that he keeps specifically for this occasion over the supine body, and then he returns to his desk. The stains on his suit don't bother him in the slightest as he relaxes and waits for his Will to wake up.

Hannibal shuts his own eyes and smiles.


End file.
